


Beating a Dead Horse

by Fides



Category: Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Flash Fic, Masturbation, Merry Month of Masturbation Challenge, Other, mmom, mmom 2008, mmom 2008: day 19
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-05-18
Updated: 2008-05-18
Packaged: 2017-10-03 01:33:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fides/pseuds/Fides
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Owen promised Tosh he would call if he needed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beating a Dead Horse

Masturbation. Wanking. Having one of the wrist. Spending an evening with Mrs Rosie Palm and her five lovely daughters. Bashing the Bishop. Spanking the monkey.

It didn't matter what you called it; not being able to do it was one of the worst things about being dead.

Owen had spent many nights considering it - he didn't sleep after all and his other alternative was go into the hub and listen to Jack and the teaboy fuck which was not his idea of a good time.

No more eating and drinking was hard but as he never felt hungry it was more habit than anything else. If he really felt the need to taste the rich flavours and textures then he could always make like an Essex girl and spit rather than swallow.

Sex would have been nice if he could have found someone willing to indulge in a little light-hearted necrophilia, and there were always a few perverts out there somewhere. All he needed to do was tell a Goth he was a vampire and he was in. But nothing worked so there was no point. He'd heard that some stupid proportion of sex was in your brain. Load of balls. Whoever had come up with that piece of twaddle obviously hadn't been in a position where 100% of their sex was in their brain. Maybe if you had picked up some cheap bird who had looked a lot better after five pints than she would in the morning. Then you were fucking Asia Carrera and they were probably fucking George Clooney. Or hell, you could be fucking old George if she was particularly ugly. Whatever got you off.

But that was all gone when Captain bloody I-can't-go-a-week-without-getting-my-cock-sucked Harkness decided that he wanted his thirty seconds to say good bye.

The worst part was the desire, that part was definitely in your mind and the fact that his body wasn't coming to the party didn't stop his brain sending invitation.

Hand curled loosely around his cold, flaccid, and now slightly raw, dick Owen admitted it was probably time to give Tosh a call.


End file.
